


Nobody's Left to Wonder

by phantombrew



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Desert, Eldritch, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantombrew/pseuds/phantombrew
Summary: The world ended, but I wasn't there to see it. I don't know what happened or when, but I'm trying my best to survive until I find out.





	Nobody's Left to Wonder

It stinks of fish. It’s hard to breathe because of how heavy the air is. I feel sick.

I pick my head up out of the sand. Every joint in my body cracks, dropping me back down onto my belly, knocking the breath out of me. Gasping, I try to get back up, holding myself up with my arms as I pull my legs out of the wet beach sand. My clothes are damp, weighing me down as I slowly rise up. There’s no wind, and I can’t hear any waves either. The air is heavy with the smell of fish, rotting fish, like our entire haul was left out in the sun for weeks.

The beach is surrounded by a seawall made out of boulders. From where I am, I can’t see any way to scale it, but the rocks aren’t big enough to be that much of a challenge to climb. Most of the beach is barren, with little but driftwood sitting on the dunes of dead seaweed and wet sand. A chunk of our vessel is sitting half submerged in the water to my right. I can’t see any sign of anyone else, but as I make my way over a blue piece of fabric slowly reveals itself in the wreck. It’s the captain!

I run over and jump down on my knees, cracking them again and wincing in pain. He’s face down in the sand, half buried. He’s incredibly hard to pull out of the sand, but I manage it, yanking him out of his half-grave and facing him towards me. His face is at peace: eyes closed and mouth shut in a calm posture, befitting of a captain. Unusual though, considering we were anything but peacefully shipwrecked. Aye, peace be with him.

Putting him to one side, I stand back up under the overhanging ruin of our ship. Where I’m standing would probably have been the berth, but it’s hard to tell with everything being destroyed. A single footlocker sits submerged underwater, partially buried in sand as well. I hoist it out, nearly pulling my back out in the process. The name etched into the front reads “R. Elersson,” a fine crewmate, one of the best fishermen I’ve ever met. God knows where he is now. The lock snaps off with one clean twist and the trunk opens easily, spilling out its contents onto the sand. Shirts, boots, notebooks are all packed on top of one another with no rhyme or reason. I rummage down to the bottom, feeling a leathery handle under all the piled up clothing. My fingers make their way down the handle, feeling a steel piece near the top of the handle, a crossguard! I yank up through the clothes, gripping the handle as I tug through bunches of shirts and other weights. It’s a knife! A Bowie Knife no less, in perfect condition too. The sheath is a beatiful worn leather, with a single strap over the guard to keep it in. I get up and link it to my belt, for safe keeping. It’s heavy, noticeably so while resting on my thigh. I kneel back down and start rifling through again. There’s nothing else I can grab it seems, so I stand back up. My back is sweating from the sun, so much so that it’s starting to stick onto my skin. I peel it off as I stretch my legs out, looking up at the sky for the first time since I woke up.

The sky is on fire.

I nearly choke on my own breath.

I look back down at the seawall and the beach. I can barely think straight. Everything starts to swirl around me for a second. I look up at the sky again. It’s a burning mix of orange and red, leaving clouds as silhouetted puffs of black among the fiery backdrop. It swirls and twists inside itself, as if the entire world is burning. Every fiber of my body feels like it’s about to explode out of my skin. I gasp in some air, welcoming the horrible fish odor, and I bring my gaze back down to Earth. My legs start to move on their own, tearing through the wet sand towards the seawall.

There’s a small staircase of stone placed near the center of the wall, making it easier for me to bound up. I stop myself as I make it up to the top, nearly sliding back down on the smoothed stones, but catching myself as I lean forward to gasp for breath. Sweat is starting to form all over my body, some sliding down my face and into my mouth. The grass under my feet is dead, and the ground is loose too. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look up.

Mountains of rock stick up everywhere, jagged and rough, like a bomb's gone off. I can see buildings and houses smashed to pieces and thrown asunder like they were nothing. Dust is refracting the hellish red sky, leaving everything in a fiery haze. The grass is all dead, the few trees are dead too, and everything is smashed to bits.

Everything is destroyed. My knees buckle.


End file.
